


Stolen Time

by MarianneGreenleaf



Series: Building a Life Together: The Courtship of Marian Paroo [12]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: Charming Victorian, Clandestine canoodling, Courtship is the best ship, Dashing former conman, Edwardian era, F/M, Fluff with depth, Heavy Petting, Ladykiller In Love, Music room rendezvous, Parlor passion, Passion vs Propriety, Sometimes staying legitimate is hard, Unpacking emotional baggage, gorgeous gowns, heartwarming domesticity, sweet & low
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianneGreenleaf/pseuds/MarianneGreenleaf
Summary: When Marian tutors Harold in tempo rubato, he can't help reflecting that his time with her still feels somehow finite. But he quickly learns that music isn't the only thing the librarian has to teach him...
Relationships: Harold Hill/Marian Paroo
Series: Building a Life Together: The Courtship of Marian Paroo [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/26553
Kudos: 2





	Stolen Time

_I spoke to you in cautious tones;_  
_You answered me with no pretense._  
_And still I feel I said too much._  
_My silence is my self-defense._  
_But if my silence made you leave,_  
_Then that would be my worst mistake._  
_So I will share this room with you._  
_And you can have this heart to break._  
_So I would choose to be with you._  
_That’s if the choice were mine to make._  
_But you can make decisions too._  
_~And So It Goes, The King’s Singers, arr. Billy Joel_

_I’d rather I always be a part of whatever you do_  
_I’d rather be me with you_  
_~I’d Rather Be Me (With You), Steven Universe Future_

XXX

One fine Friday afternoon in mid-October 1912, Harold Hill found himself seated right next to Marian Paroo on the piano bench in her mother’s parlor as she demonstrated tempo rubato through a stirring rendition of Chopin’s _Nocturne in E flat major_. Given that Mrs. Paroo was both cheerfully and conspicuously washing the lunch dishes in the kitchen and Winthrop had long since departed to play with his friends, the music professor and librarian were quite alone together.

But for once, romance was not at the forefront of Harold’s mind. While he could not help the electric zing that ran through his body at various intervals as a natural consequence of being in such close proximity with the lovely librarian, he was doing his best to pay close attention to what she was attempting to teach him. For the tempo rubato was not an easy technique to master, and he found this difficulty both frustrating and ironic – the main effect of this phrasing was to make music sound expressive and natural, but it must be achieved through the strategic speeding up and then slowing down of tempo, rather than through intuitively applied shifting.

However, Harold’s mind couldn’t help wandering as he watched Marian’s hands fly expertly over the keys and the evocative passion of the resulting melody washed over him. Even though he’d progressed a great deal beneath the librarian’s adept tutelage, he’d never be able to reach this level of excellence, and as such there was a small part of him that would always feel like a pretender at best and an imposter at worst. Of the two of them, Marian was the true musical virtuoso who had spent a lifetime honing her craft. And now that Harold knew so much more about music, he was rather humbled to reflect that it was no wonder she found his Think System not only absurd, but a downright insult to the art form at the beginning of their acquaintance.

After nearly four months in River City – and a full three of them as an honest man, at that! – he thought he finally knew who Harold Hill was. But in moments like this, when the former swindler was utterly out of his depth and it was made crystal clear to him how much he had left to learn, he couldn’t help wondering just what it was, exactly, that he brought to the table. What did he _really_ have to offer the elegant, indomitable, and cultured woman who was seated beside him, other than a handsome face, a silver tongue, and a kiss that left her breathless? If he couldn’t sustain this fanciful Think System business – and he had his doubts, despite their ringing success to date – he’d have absolutely nothing to offer Marian Paroo but a good time for a short while.

 _Time_ , Harold thought dimly, trying to retrieve the fragments of his scattered thoughts and wrap them back around the music lesson. Marian was so engaged in her playing she hadn’t noticed his lapse in attention, but she would very soon if he didn’t get a hold of himself.

It was hard, though. And it didn’t help his concentration to recall that tempo rubato was, quite literally, Italian for _stolen time_ , as this was a concept that weighed rather heavily on Harold’s mind. Even after everything he’d done to be with Marian – staying in River City to face the consequences of his actions, starting a business, buying a house, telling her all about his past – he couldn’t help feeling that he was merely delaying the inevitable denouement of a scheme, no matter how grand or good or glorious this particular scheme was.

Perhaps he was having these bothersome thoughts because the notion of permanency still seemed like an unattainable luxury – every single thing he’d ever charmed himself into had either been irretrievably broken or cruelly taken away from him eventually. And this time, Harold not only got his foot caught in the door, he’d fully entered the room of his own accord. So if the lovely librarian finally realized how little she was truly getting in return for all she’d given to him and subsequently chose to end their courtship, he wasn’t going to be walking away from that kind of devastation unscathed. While he’d have very few qualms about abandoning the emporium or the charming Victorian and hopping on the next train out of town if he lost her, such an escape would be an exercise in the harshest futility, as he no longer had anywhere to go. Now that he knew Marian was in the world, he couldn’t imagine _his_ world without her in it.

Marian’s sweet voice suddenly pierced his contemplations. “Harold?”

The would-be music professor didn’t bother trying to pretend everything was all right – he simply sighed, pulled her close, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Marian knew him so well by now that there wasn’t any use in attempting to conceal his sense of disquiet from her. While the twinge of discomfort he felt at being such an open book was something he was still having trouble getting used to, he took great comfort from the fact that the woman he couldn’t help loving so utterly, hopelessly, and desperately had never shown one single iota of revulsion to his rather embarrassing demonstrations of defenselessness. Knowing this, he craved both her emotional and physical warmth more than he cared about appearing unflappable.

To his relief, Marian gave it to him every bit as generously and wholeheartedly as she had their first night together on the footbridge, wrapping her arms tightly around him, bathing his cheeks with soft kisses, and whispering tender endearments into his ear. Although Harold knew this was far more wonderful than he could ever hope to deserve, he allowed himself to revel in her embrace. He also noted that she looked particularly fetching today, in her white lace dress and overdress combination with velvet sash and trim in the most stunning shade of cobalt blue.

But even as Harold relaxed in her arms, his lips gently tracing the threads of an exquisitely embroidered whitework flower as he drank in Marian’s sweet scent of lavender and cleanliness, he couldn’t help observing yet another conspicuous difference between the two of them. The librarian was wholly secure in the concept of permanency and this was reflected in her ensemble: the gown she wore was an intricate and delicate masterpiece specifically constructed for refined afternoons in gracious parlors, and the time it must have taken for her to wash, press, and maintain it was considerable. Whereas Harold was clad in a brown plaid Norfolk suit that, while newly acquired, was exceedingly similar to the one he had on when he first arrived to town. Even after all these months, he was still inclined to purchasing clothing made of sturdy and durable fabric – or what he called “instant traveling weft” – that was more suitable for rough-and-tumble riding the rails than it was for cordial calling on the woman he was planning to marry.

But despite his lack of sartorial confidence, he _was_ going to marry the librarian. The ring was currently on order all the way from Des Moines, and due to arrive any day now. Because if there was one thing that Harold Hill was sure of, even in the midst of his current crisis of personality, it was that he wanted nothing more than to be by Marian Paroo’s side for the rest of his life. And until he was in the right position to give her every single thing that he knew she was dreaming of – a home of her own, a loving and passionate marriage, and perhaps a child or two if they were lucky – he could at least tell her the full and honest truth so she could make an informed decision about her own future.

Harold’s eyes found hers. “Marian, I’d give the whole entire world to you, if I could.”

She graced him with an enchanting smile. “I don’t need the world, Harold. Having you here with me is more than enough.”

Although Harold couldn’t help grinning at the wonderful warmth that spread through his body – a fella could get lost for hours in that steady and serene beam of hers – his conscience continued to prick at him. While his selfish and hedonistic side screamed at him to _shut up_ and not ruin the good thing they had going, he knew that if he wanted to be a bona fide gentleman, he was duty-bound to at least try to convince such a lady of quality to take off her rose-colored spectacles and consider her romantic situation more objectively. And to do that, he was going to have to do a much better job than that give-her-the-world twaddle, even if the sentiment was a hundred percent genuine on his part. “Be that as it may, my dear little librarian, you must know deep down that you deserve so much better than a scoundrel like me – ”

Marian immediately gave him a look that was so stern his mouth snapped shut and his heart started to pound. “Harold, we are _not_ going to go down that awful road again. You have to stop doubting not just yourself, but also my judgment. I may be a full sixteen years younger than you and haven’t seen a fraction of the world that you have, but I’m more than old enough to know my own heart and mind. And I’m starting to know _your_ heart and mind more fully, as well.” She leaned so close to him that their noses brushed, and he stared both pleadingly and helplessly into her brilliant, piercing gaze. “And let me tell you something, Harold Hill. Not one single thing you’ve told me so far has made me regret being with you. I chose you – I love you – I _like_ you – ”

It was exactly what Harold had been hoping, wanting, _needing_ to hear. His conscience finally assuaged, his confidence roared back tenfold. He _was_ Harold Hill, he _was_ worthy of Marian Paroo, and he would spend the rest of his life proving this truth to anyone who ever doubted him – including himself.

So he leaned in and kissed the daylights out of her. And to his delight, she kissed him back so fiercely that he was just as much reduced to a befuddled and breathless muddle in her arms as she was in his. This ringing reassurance that things were anything but strictly cordial between them was well worth the severe but good-natured scolding Mrs. Paroo gave them when her forbearance finally dwindled and she came upon them so scandalously entwined in the parlor, and he could not dim the incandescence of his grin even as he apologized to his future mother-in-law for their outrageous lapse in propriety. If his time with Marian was indeed stolen, he’d gladly and unrepentantly pilfer as much of it as he possibly could.

Later, on the way back to the charming Victorian that grew a little comfier and cozier as each day passed, Harold stopped at several stores on Center Street to pick up yet another passel of goods and notions that he knew Marian would appreciate in her future music room and bedroom. This included the purchase of an elegant forest green velour bathrobe and a pair of brown silk pajamas for himself to wear on their wedding night. As he’d adopted the uncouth but practical approach of sleeping in his shirtsleeves or stripping down to his scanties once he left his mother’s tidy and well-ordered abode, these were the first proper nightclothes he’d possessed since he was a boy. But he was firmly resolved that they wouldn’t be his last.

Harold was not just home, but finally himself in truth as well as name. Now all he needed to do was bring Marian to live with him, and the culmination of one of the grandest schemes of his life would be complete. It _was_ an ending, to be sure, but the beginning that followed would be an entirely new adventure. And he looked forward to sharing whatever there was to come with the woman he loved body, heart, and soul, and who loved him just as passionately and unstintingly in return.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see what Marian's lovely white lace and velvet overdress with cobalt-blue trim and sash looks like, you can check it out [here](https://sarita29.livejournal.com/99963.html).
> 
> A lovely Redditor, urlocalartist, created a piece of fanart for this fic! Check it out [here](https://sarita29.livejournal.com/100469.html).


End file.
